


Unable Are the Loved to Die

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tearjerker, warning: animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:52:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: "Unable are the loved to die/ for love is immortality"-- Emily DickinsonSteve says goodbye to Eddie.





	Unable Are the Loved to Die

**Author's Note:**

> So, fair warning, this is exactly as advertised. We had to put down my beautiful girl a few months ago, and I'm still not over it, and this just came from there. Please don't read on if you think this will upset you too much <3

He’d been worried for weeks now that he wouldn’t know; that he wouldn’t be able to tell when it was time, that he’d cause Eddie pain, either by stubbornness or just ignorance.

But when it’s time, Steve knows.

Truth be told he knows it from the moment he wakes—somehow, somewhere in his gut—but still he carries Eddie downstairs, out to the beach, as he has every morning for months now. But when he places him in the sand, Eddie just flops. He lies there, too weak to even try to stand; the only movement in his entire body is in his eyes as they track Steve fondly, and the tiniest twitch of his tail when Steve kneels beside him and rubs his belly.

For a few minutes that’s all he can do. He doesn’t want to leave Eddie alone, doesn’t want to steal his last visit to the beach, either, but he knows he needs to make the call before he can fall apart completely, and his phone is back inside. In the end he carries Eddie to the sofa. Then he sprints upstairs to get his phone, taking the steps three at a time, gutted by the thought that Eddie will slip away in these thirty seconds.

He doesn’t. He twitches his tail again as Steve rushes back to him, and pants a little as Steve buries his face in his side; the first of what Steve knows will be many, many tears swell up and soak into the golden fur.

He calls the vet’s office, gets Katie, the receptionist. Steve gives her his name, and Eddie’s, and braces himself for when he’ll have to give details, make his case, take the lead. It doesn’t happen. She tells him calmly to bring Eddie in any time, that the waiting area isn’t clear but that she’ll show him back to an exam room as soon as he comes in, for privacy. He thanks her, hangs up, calls Danny.

It’s a Saturday morning, and Steve knows Danny didn’t leave the restaurant until at least 0200 last night. But Danny answers on the second ring.

“I’m taking Eddie to the vet’s,” Steve says, and his voice sounds flat even to him. “I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” Danny says, automatically. Then Steve hears him process it, in real time. “Oh. Okay, babe, hey, I’m gonna meet you there. Can you send me the address? Or you want me to pick you up?”

Eddie probably wants one last ride in the truck, Steve thinks, more tears brimming hotly in his eyes. “Meet me there,” he grunts. And before he can start blubbering into the phone he hangs up and sends Danny the vet’s location.

In all this he’s still been petting Eddie, but keeping his eyes on the carpet. It hurts, is the thing, to see him and know it’s one of the last times he ever will—but that’s cowardice, plain and simple, so Steve pulls in a deep breath and meets Eddie’s eyes.

And he’d swear: it seems that Eddie knows too.

Steve’s still in pajamas, but he doesn’t care. He’s not leaving Eddie alone for another moment, and carrying him back upstairs is just unnecessary when he’s in pain. So Steve just shoves his feet into some flip-flops and grabs his keys.  

Eddie doesn’t even perk up at being in the truck, and Steve knows he’s making the right decision. As recently as three or four days ago he’d still sat up and looked out the window. Now he just lays on the seat: his seat, covered in his fur, where he’s sat a thousand times. Here now for the last drive.

Steve cries the whole way to the vet’s, doesn’t even try not to.

The Camaro’s not in the lot when Steve pulls in. He thinks about waiting for Danny, letting Eddie stay in his seat a while longer, but for whatever reason he just can’t. He gathers Eddie in his arms and goes inside.

True to her word Katie stands the moment he enters, guiding him swiftly from the waiting area with its handful of healthy, tail-wagging puppies. They go to the last exam room in the hall. Steve rocks Eddie a little as Katie spreads a blanket over the metal exam table and zeroes out the scale, then gestures for Steve to lay Eddie down.

“He’ll be with you as soon as he can,” she tells Steve, scratching Eddie’s belly. “If you like, I could call someone for you?”

“Buddy of mine’s comin’,” Steve gruffs out. “Should be here soon.”

“Okay. It’s good to have a friend with you.” Katie smiles sadly. “There’s some information there”—she gestures to the wall—“if you think it might help. I’ll knock to let you know when the doctor’s on his way.” And then she goes.

Steve looks where she was pointing to see a framed block of text where there would usually be a cheery picture. The heading reads _What to Expect During Euthanasia_. Steve glances around the room and realizes for the first time that it must be a designated space, because there’s not much there but the sign and a few chairs, and some basic supplies and a box of tissues on the counter.

 _This happens every day_ , Steve thinks, absently. But it’s never happened to _him_ , so somehow that doesn’t help much.

He pets Eddie and skims over the sign on the wall. It’s nothing he didn’t know from reading up over the last couple of weeks, but it makes him feel the slightest bit more prepared. Eddie’s calm, so it’ll be Steve’s choice whether or not to sedate him first. Either way, even if they just go straight to the euthanasia solution, Eddie won’t feel any pain after the injection; he’ll lose consciousness within seconds, maybe breathe for a minute or so more, but then it’ll be over. Steve can sit with him a while, alone, if he likes. Then the vet’s will take his body for cremation, and Steve will get the ashes in a few weeks.

There’s a soft knock just as he finishes reading. The door stays shut, and Steve hears Katie’s voice telling him the vet will be there in a minute or two. So he grabs a few tissues, blows his nose. Evens out his breathing, because he won’t get through the rest of this without more tears but at least maybe he can hold off on crying for Eddie’s last moments. His boy hates him upset, always has.

Dr. Kealoha knocks too, before coming in; he shakes Steve’s hand and rubs Eddie’s side, and Steve takes a long, slow breath.

“I just need to ask you a few questions, Steve,” he says calmly. “But Katie said you have a friend coming. Would you like to wait for him?”

“It’s okay,” Steve replies. He doesn’t think he can go through the actual procedure without Danny there, but the questions, that he can handle. Probably. It’s not a lot, just some basics about Eddie’s behavior over the last few days. Steve answers it all mechanically, and Kealoha takes a few notes. Then when it’s done he puts the clipboard down.

“Have you been through this before?” he asks, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“No.”

“Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?”

Steve shakes his head, throat going too tight for speech.

“Okay. Please don’t hesitate if you do. Listen, Steve. This is incredibly hard, I know it is, but I absolutely agree that it’s time for this.”

That’s soothing in a way Steve hadn’t expected, and he nods silently.

“Would you like me to sedate Eddie before the procedure?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Are you going to stay with him? You don’t have to.”

Steve nods, and opens his mouth to say something—but whatever it was is lost as the door opens again. In comes Danny. A shudder runs through Steve’s body as he sighs out, massively; fresh tears start pouring down his cheeks.

“Hey,” Danny murmurs, eyes assessing Steve thoroughly and quickly. “Hey, Edward,” he adds, ruffling Eddie’s fur. “Hey, doc.”

“Hey,” Steve whispers, as Danny comes and stands behind him, touching his back for a moment. Then there’s a scrape as Danny drags the chair from against the wall up next to the table, and more or less forces Steve into it. He puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, leaves it there.

Kealoha smiles in understanding; he says he’ll be back in a few minutes, and then he leaves.

The door closes behind him.

And all the quiet, stoic tears give way to a gush of helpless crying; Steve buries his face in Danny’s side, clutches his fists in Danny’s t-shirt. Danny sighs, hugs Steve against him.

“I know, babe,” he murmurs; he’s got one hand at the back of Steve’s head and now he threads his fingers into Steve’s hair. “I know. I know.”

Steve doesn’t even respond, too busy sobbing his guts out, can’t even remember the last time he cried this hard but he couldn’t stop right now for anything less than a gun in his face.

But Eddie whines, then. And maybe he couldn’t stop for anything else, he Steve stops for Eddie, because right now his boy is looking up at him, eyes full of empathy, and confusion, and Steve kicks himself mentally and pulls his shit together, calls up every ounce of training and discipline in his memory and manages to stop crying. Eddie pants in approval. And Steve rubs his belly and scratches his ears, and kisses him between the eyes, again and again and again. It’s not about him now, it’s about Eddie.

There’s a knock at the door again. Steve nods at Danny, who calls for Kealoha to come in; he does, with a small tray in one hand.

The next few minutes pass faster than Steve expects them to. Kealoha shaves a patch on Eddie’s front leg, numbs the spot, and asks Steve again if he has any questions. Steve just shakes his head. Then he asks if Steve’s ready and Steve gets to his feet and more or less takes Eddie into his arms, closes his eyes and whispers words of love and pride in Eddie’s ear. He feels warm fur on his cheek, a warm hand on his shoulder.

Steve nods.

He hears the tiny sound of the plunger depressing, and opens his eyes again once it’s over; Eddie looks up at him and takes one big deep breath, then a couple shallow ones, then nothing.

He’s gone.

Kealoha rests a hand on Steve’s arm, squeezing gently. “Would you like me to close his eyes?”

Steve nods, and Kealoha does, then tells Danny they can stay in the room as long as they need. Then he leaves them alone again, taking the tray.

Steve feels Danny maneuvering him, gently, back into the chair; he falls into it and gasps for breath, too dazed to move, too shocked to cry. Eddie’s gone. His boy is gone. Never going to swim with him again. Never going to steal his socks. Never going to put his head in Steve’s lap and just be there with him, just love him and trust him—

“Steve.” Danny’s voice and his arms are warm as he kneels besides Steve, pulls him close. “Catch your breath, okay? You did what you needed to do. You did what Eddie needed you to do.”

Did he? Sure. Even the vet agreed. But that doesn’t make it easier.

“Now you’re gonna let me look after you, okay? Come back to my place, you’re gonna lie down, you’re gonna be okay.”

Will he be? Sure. Of course. He’s lost Dad, Deb, Freddie; he’s lost his mom, more than once, and he’s okay. So sure, he’ll be okay.

He’s just not right now.

“I know,” Danny says again, and for a moment Steve wonders if he’s spoken aloud. It doesn’t matter. Danny pulls back, holds Steve’s face in his hands like he’s five years old. “You are one hundred percent allowed to be not okay right now, McGarrett. But let’s go be not okay at home, okay?”

Steve nods. “Okay,” he gets out.

“Okay.”

“I think,” Steve starts, then hiccups, and starts again. “I think I have to, um, talk to, talk to Katie, like—the desk person?”

“Did that, you’re all set. We can go when you’re ready. Do you—do you want me to give you a minute alone with him?”

Steve shakes his head. He’s been saying goodbye all morning, doesn’t need to say it again, besides which he doesn’t think he can be in a different room from Danny right now. Literally.

“Okay. You, uh. You want his collar?”

Fresh tears swell at this, and Steve nods, meekly. Danny keeps a hand on his back as he stands, undoes the buckle on Eddie’s collar, and slips it out from under his heavy head. He tries to put it in his pocket but ends up coiling it around his fingers.

He takes one last look, gives one last belly scratch, and then Steve finally feels ready to go.

Arms hooked together now, Danny leads him from the room. Tears are coming again, if they’d ever stopped at all, but somehow Steve’s okay with it, even as they cross through the waiting room, passing half a dozen people. One woman catches his eye. From the way she smiles Steve can tell that she knows what it’s like, that everybody in that room knows, and that’s more of a comfort than Steve can say. He smiles back, wobbly but genuine.

It’s getting hot outside, and Steve shivers at the sudden shift as Danny brings him down the ramp and into the parking lot. Danny’s parked beside him. Steve lumbers over between the Camaro and his truck, leans against Danny’s passenger door, and slumps there pulling in warm air, open space.

Danny leans beside him, loops his arm through Steve’s again. They stand in silence for a few long minutes, until finally Danny clears his throat. “Wanna drive together?”

Steve shakes his head. By now he’s regained enough pragmatism to not leave his truck at the vet’s just to spare him ten minutes of not being next to Danny.

It’s kind of close, though.

“’kay,” Danny says. “My house, then?”

Steve hesitates at this. He doesn’t want to see the spaces Eddie used to sleep, left empty now—and still he also kind of needs to? It’s a fifty-fifty thing. But really, all he wants is a shower and a bed, and Danny’s house has both of those, and also has Danny. So Steve nods. Danny cranes up, smacks a kiss on his cheek, goes around to the driver’s side, and slides into his car. Steve gets into his truck and takes off before he can get stuck sitting there.

He beats Danny home, even though he’s not trying to; he lets himself in with the so-called hidden key, goes into the bathroom, and turns the shower on the hottest it will go. Strips, climbs in, closes his eyes. He’s never gotten the hang of Danny-length showers, but he stays in there a good ten minutes. After, in his boxers, he goes into Danny’s bedroom and swipes one of his t-shirts.

Then it all kind of catches up to him again. He crawls into Danny’s bed, gets under the blankets and buries his face in the pillows; the weeping builds up in his guts and he lets it out, lets it come in rapid waves like the sea in a storm. Eddie. Eddie’s gone. Steve’s left the collar in the truck and really wishes he hadn’t; he grabs fistfuls of blankets instead.

There’s a door creaking open, then footsteps.

“You gettin’ snot on my pillows?”

Steve nods, and hears a chuckle, and the bed shifts like Danny’s climbing in beside him. “You’re disgusting. Hey, take a drink, okay?” Steve raises his head, squinting through the ache, and sure enough Danny’s right there, cross-legged, holding out of bottle of water. Steve takes it, and sits up enough to drink. It helps. He realizes suddenly that he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink all day, and he’s _thirsty_ ; he sits up all the way and guzzles it down. Danny takes the empty bottle when he’s done.

“Thanks.” It’s still a croak but the water must’ve helped somewhat, because it doesn’t sound as bad as Steve was expecting.

“Mm,” Danny hums. “You wanna lie down a bit?”

The only thing that feels okay right now is the blankets against his body, their softness, their give, so instead of getting up as he probably should do he, Steve nods. He shimmies back underneath and pulls the blankets higher.

It’s not long before Danny lies down too, and gets an arm around him, so Steve’s head lands in the cradle of Danny’s shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve sniffles, and a big, hot tear plops from his nose onto Danny’s neck. “No.”

“Okay. You’re okay.” And Danny gets his fingers in Steve’s hair, scratches lightly at his scalp while Steve closes his eyes and lets the tears come freely for what must be the hundredth time that day.

He’s not quite aware of falling asleep. But he wakes up later to Danny shifting, carefully removing his arm from under Steve’s weight. Steve rubs the gunk from his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to three,” Danny replies, massaging his arm. “I’m gonna swing by the restaurant for a few hours, I won’t stay the whole night.”

“‘kay.”

“I’ll bring some stuff home and make us dinner. Maybe risotto, nice risotto, huh?”

“Chicken and mushroom,” Steve huffs, which makes Danny smile and pat him on his head. Then he goes. Steve sinks back under the blankets, comfortable and just a little overwarm, doing some mental math; it’s three, when he did let Eddie out this morning? He should run home and exercise him a bit before Danny gets back with dinner—

 _Oh_.

Steve fights back this new wave of tears, for the simple reason that it physically hurts to cry right now. His eyes feel gritty and swollen. Grief and lack of food have his head pounding and his stomach flopping around like a fish on dry land. He pushes his palms against his eyes and takes a slow breath. He needs to move a little, is the thing, he needs to get up and do something other than soak in his own sadness.

So he gets some sneakers and shorts from the truck, and goes for a run. It doesn’t work to clear his mind as much as he’d hoped, especially not the few times he passes a dog out with their owner, cheerful and well. Truth be told, once it’s a yellow lab, and Steve has to slow down to a jog and cry a little. But even if the run doesn’t _work_ , it _helps_ , and as Steve makes his way back to Danny’s house it occurs to him that this is probably—normal. Probably totally normal. Besides Deb, maybe, this is the only normal death he’s ever experienced, timely and untragic, and that makes this, well, normal grief. He loved Eddie. Hell, he still loves Eddie, present tense, so of course he’s going to be upset about his passing. Why shouldn’t he? Eddie’s gone and Steve’s heartbroken, and he doesn’t need to _clear his mind_. He needs to weep and wail and eat unhealthy food and cling to Danny and clear a space on the mantle for Eddie’s collar. He needs to spread his ashes at the beach and weep some more.

And realizing this doesn’t make him any less sad but it does lift a sort of weight from him, where it was pressing his insides down and he didn’t even know it.

He gets back to Danny’s house, and some sort of autopilot takes over. He goes inside only long enough to get the keys to the truck; then he goes back out, settles into the driver’s seat, and puts his hand out to where Eddie would usually have been.

And he cries. He _cries_. He puts his arms against the steering wheel, head against his arms, and just fucking sobs, until there isn’t a single tear left to shed, until the truck has become a fucking oven and he realizes he’s sweating even more than he was after the run.

So he wipes his face, locks up the truck, and goes inside.

Steve’s showered and stolen some more of Danny’s clothes and is curled up on the sofa when he hears the Camaro pull up. A moment later the front door opens. Danny ambles in with a take-out bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other; he gestures with the wine as he comes around to the sofa.

“You shower again?”

“I went for a run.”

“You went for a run. Of course you did.” He leans in, kisses Steve’s damp hair, lets Steve hug him loosely. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How you doing?”

Steve sighs, wishing Danny would go put the food down and give him an actual hug. How is he? He’s calmer by now, but also kind of shaky and maybe a little short of breath. Sort of removed from himself. Part of him wants to call it _all cried out_ but another part calls it tired and probably dehydrated. With maybe some low blood sugar to boot because despite running he still hasn’t eaten.

He takes too long to answer, apparently, because now Danny _does_ put the food down, perch beside him, and give him an actual hug. Steve sinks against him with a sigh. He smells like butter and garlic, and sure that’s not the mildest of smells, but it smells like Danny at his most Danny-est, so Steve loves it. He buries his face in Danny’s chest and doesn’t let him pull away.

“Hey,” Danny murmurs. “We cryin’ again?”

“Nn.”

“No judgment.”

“’m not crying,” Steve grunts, and lifts his face to Danny’s to prove it.

“Okay. I made us that risotto, I swiped a couple of slices of tiramisu, I’m putting on my sweatpants. My chubby pants. Yes? And white wine, because don’t think I’m not noticing, Steven, that red wine is fucking with your stomach even more than it used to.”

“I like red wine better,” Steve grumbles, and Danny reaches up and thumbs the grey at his temples. Steve knows he’s thinking about getting older, but tonight he leaves it unsaid.

”Fine,” he huffs instead. “Get the shits, violate my poor bathroom. See if I care. Set the table, will you?”

“You cooked there?”

“Yeah, so I didn’t have to do the dishes.” Danny flashes a smile and goes off to his bedroom; Steve’s setting the table as Danny appears, like he promised to, in sweatpants and an ancient t-shirt. The sight of him like that makes Steve feel small and safe.

Dinner’s quiet. The risotto’s delicious and even if it weren’t Steve hasn’t eaten in almost a full day now, so mostly he just focuses on the food. Danny follows suite, and apart from requests to pass the parmesan it’s mostly a comfortable silence.

After dinner they take the tiramisu and the wine back to the living room, hunker down on the sofa, put the TV on for background. Steve inhales dessert like he inhaled dinner, then curls up at Danny’s side.

He doesn’t quite sleep but he drifts, the wine helping to quiet his mind, with his head on Danny’s shoulder. There’s still the ache, the deep, pervasive sadness, and he doubts it will fade anytime soon. But food has helped, and crying has helped, and his strange revelation that he’s actually allowed to grieve, honestly, that’s done wonders.

And Danny. Of course. Always Danny.

Steve dozes to the drone of the TV and to Danny’s steady breathing, until the front door opens, pulls him halfway back with the unexpected sound. He presses into Danny, aware but not totally awake.

“Hey, monkey,” Danny says, quietly. “Didn’t know you’d be around tonight.”

“Yeah, just missed you.” God, Grace is so grown up now. “Is Uncle Steve okay?”

Whether he means to or not, Danny holds Steve closer then. “He had to put Eddie down today,” he whispers.

“Oh.” It’s little more than a sigh, and then Steve feels Grace’s lips on his forehead. “Poor Uncle Steve. Did you go with him?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s so sad, but I’m glad you were with him.”

“Mm,” Danny sighs.

“I’m gonna grab a shower, then I’ll come hang out for a while, okay?”

“’kay, monkey. There’s risotto in the fridge, if you want some.”

“And I see evidence of tiramisu—?”

“Uh, no. We finished that off pretty good.”

Grace laughs. “Not cool, Danno,” she whines. “Okay. You guys need anything?”

“We’re good. ‘m gonna give him ‘til ten or so, then get him to sleep in an actual bed. He’s had a rough day.”

Grace just hums, and her footsteps retreat.

Danny shifts a little, gets both arms around Steve’s now; Steve huffs at the movement, burrowing closer.

“Hey. We wake you up?”

“Nn.”

“You want a blanket, babe?”

He’s not cold, long since accustomed to Danny’s ridiculous AC; still Steve nods. Danny shifts again. Then there’s a blanket tucking around them both, and Steve feels Danny’s breath blow over his hair as Danny rests his head atop Steve’s own.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Danny sighs. “About Eddie. I’m here, okay? If you need me, I’ll be here.”

“Mm,” Steve breathes. “I kn’w, D’nno. Y’ ‘lready are.”

And then the warmth and the sadness and the wine all pull him back under, and Steve sleeps.


End file.
